


Gravity Omens

by detectivejigsaw



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Gravity Falls
Genre: Angel Stan Pines, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Demon Ford Pines, Ford Pines is a Good Brother, Future cast to be added soon, Gen, Good Omens with a GF twist, He gets better, Makes the most sense to fans of both fandoms, Scary Angry Ford, So many woobies, Sorry if it's slightly blasphemous to some of you, Stan Pines is a Good Brother, despite being a jerk sometimes, probably, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: A series of oneshots, written as I think of them, of the lives of Stan the angel and Ford the demon as they struggle to understand the ineffable plan, and try to stay brothers despite technically being on opposite sides.
Relationships: Fiddleford H. McGucket & Ford Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines
Comments: 78
Kudos: 52





	1. In the beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarylStorey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarylStorey/gifts).



> Reading Good Omens is probably not mandatory, per se, in order to understand this; it is, however, highly recommended.  
> You should read Good Omens regardless, because it is a beautifully hilarious and philosophical book half written by Terry Pratchett who is one of my favorite authors of all time.  
> ...Or, if you have trouble focusing on books/think watching movies is easier, I suppose you could watch the Amazon Prime series based on it-it was admittedly pretty good, but still not a substitute in my book (ha ha).
> 
> Regardless, enjoy.

Today was the first day of the rest of the world’s life.

Well, technically there’d been seven days before that, when everything got put together and named and divided into water and land and sky, but it was the first day that the two innocent people who’d been living it up in the garden would leave it and go out to actually learn how to take care of themselves.

There was also a storm brewing.

* * *

The angel standing in front of the entrance to the garden kicked at the ground in annoyance at himself, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe, after willing them into existence. He hadn’t consciously done so, he just wanted a place to stick his hands, and some nice dipped-in places on his robe where things could be stored had done the job nicely.

“Idiots,” he muttered, “probably just gonna hurt themselves with it, shoulda-”

His lambasting was interrupted by a low hissing noise, before a dark, slithery figure...well,  _ slithered _ through the grass to come to a stop right in front of him, before lifting its front end...and then continuing to rise until it took on another form entirely.

The angel’s heart clenched as he looked at him.

It was the first time they’d seen each other since the Fall.

He’d expected it to be awkward; he hadn’t expected it to  _ hurt _ so much, especially before they’d even said a word to each other.

After a second, the only words he managed to get out were, “...Neat trick.”

Aside from a few differences, the two men looked almost exactly alike. The same square jaw, same slightly bulbous nose, same general shape of face and body. However, as I said, there were a few differences. While the angel’s eyes were a dark brown, the former snake’s were golden-yellow, with slitted pupils like a cat’s. His thick, floofy hair had a light gray stripe amongst the darker gray, as opposed to the angel’s all-silver mop, and his chin had a small cleft in the middle, which would be compared to a 1930’s action hero’s chin if action heroes, or indeed movies, had yet been invented. Both hands had an extra finger on them, and his feet, had anyone bothered to look, included an extra toe to match. And the robe he was wearing was dark gray, instead of white; it matched his wings, which were in slightly better groomed condition than his counterpart.

“ _ Sssssss- _ ”

He stopped, and looked chagrined; clearly his tongue was still trying to remember that it no longer belonged to a serpent. After a second he tried again, in a voice that was less gravelly than the angel’s.

“...Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”

The angel gave him a defensive glare. “Yeah. So what?”

The demon (because indeed, that’s what he was) frowned back at him. “Well, now there is a distinct absence of flaming sword in your vicinity. I’m just wondering what happened to it.”

The angel folded his arms. “I don’t haveta explain myself to you.”

The demon groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t lose it. Filbrick said that the next time you lost a weapon belonging to the Heavenly Host would be your last-”

“I didn’t lose it! I just-” The angel looked away, but not quick enough to keep the demon from seeing that he’d started turning red.

Something about the way his eyes darted for a second was enough to make the demon look over his shoulder, towards the wilderness outside.

Where, just for a second, he saw a small, flickering light between the trees.

The demon turned back with wide eyes.

“You didn’t.”

“They needed it more than I did, okay?! And it’s not like they’re ever gonna come back here, so it’s fine!” Despite his declaration that he did not need to explain himself, the angel was mortified to find himself doing just that.

“Stanley, you don’t know that they’ll see it like that-” The demon was cut off by bitter laughter.

“Ohoho, that is  _ rich _ coming from you! You have  _ no right _ ta be lecturing me about getting in trouble, Poindexter! I  _ told _ you that one-eyed freak was bad news-”

The demon’s eyes narrowed, and he interrupted through clenched teeth, “That ‘one-eyed freak’ has helped all of us realize that things are not as simple as the Almighty made them seem, and that there is plenty we can learn-”

“LOOK AT YOURSELF!” Stanley (who liked being called Stan, despite most angels not really going in for nicknames) roared. “You’re literally DAMNED FOR ALL ETERNITY, Stanford!”

“I-It’s just a temporary setback!” Stanford (who often went by Ford, despite demons usually going for more threatening or at least archaic-sounding names) stammered with the conviction of a man who is determinedly ignoring all evidence to the contrary of his current beliefs. “We have undergone a transformation to become entirely new, more enlightened beings-”

“Whatever.” Stan looked away. “You guys just wanna ruin humans’ lives.”

Ford scoffed. “That’s not true.”

“You just tricked ‘em into gettin’ kicked outta Paradise.”

“If they’d stayed here, they would have been stuck in perpetual innocence, and never taken the time to learn and grow! They would have been stagnant! I was doing them a favor!”

“Did you even  _ ask _ them if they wanted that, or did ya just say ‘Eat this apple, you’ll like it I promise’?”

Seconds later, the snake was slithering away at top speed, which was answer enough.

Stan sighed, and sat down in the shelter of the tree just before the clouds finally burst and rain began pouring down. He leaned his chin in his hands and sighed again, miserably.

The worst part for him was that after things calmed down, everyone had been astonished that  _ he _ wasn’t the one who fell.

Because that was what everyone expected from him.

Because  _ he _ was supposed to be the screwed-up loser who fell from grace, not Stanford the Golden Boy. Nobody had expected him to side with-with  _ them. _

Stan’s jaw clenched.

_ I’ll show ‘em _ , he thought.  _ I’m gonna be the best angel ever, and take good care of this planet and these human things God’s so interested in, and they’ll see that I don’t need him. I don’t need  _ anybody _. _

* * *

Lightning split the sky in vicious blue-white strikes.

Off in the distance, a small fire flickered in the night as two frightened people huddled next to it, trying to stay warm and comfortable in this strange new world.

So far it was not shining, shimmering  _ or _ splendid like the snake had promised.

It was not a great start for humanity.


	2. Anti-diluvian antics

The next time they saw each other in person, another storm was brewing.

This time, though, there were a lot more people around, and a lot more animals.

Two of every kind, to be precise, all of them being herded aboard an enormous wooden ship by an old guy with a beard.

Stan was standing at the edge of the crowd that was watching the proceedings, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar figure step up next to him; his stomach twisted.

Ford was pretending not to notice him, just staring ahead at the chaos as some of the wildcats started snarling at each other and Ham and Shem had to separate them, so Stan saw no reason to notice him either.

For a few minutes they just stood there blatantly not noticing each other, until a couple of children ran past them, kicking a ball back and forth and laughing. Stan’s stomach twisted as he watched how happily they were playing.

Once they were back out of earshot Ford said softly, “How benevolent of the Almighty to cleanse the earth by drowning everyone who’s not part of His select chosen ones, including so many innocent children.”

Stan didn’t rise to the bait; but his jaw clenched a little bit, and he felt his hands curl into fists all on their own.

Ford gave him a pointed stare. “Don’t you agree, Stanley?”

Stan finally turned towards him. “That’s rich coming from the guy who first encouraged stuff like murder bein’ brought into the world.” He folded his arms. “I’m not gonna take a ‘holier than thou’ attitude from the guy who told Cain, ‘Hey, if you’re that jealous of Abel why don’t you just kill him?’”

“That wasn’t me!” Ford protested; his face flushed red, and the word ‘wasn’t’ had a bit of a hiss to it.

Stan tilted his head, raising one eyebrow.

“Really! That was all Crampelter’s doing! I wasn’t even there!”

His tone certainly sounded like it did whenever he was telling the truth; and back in heaven he hadn’t been able to tell a lie to save his-if his life depended-he couldn’t lie worth a single gold coin.

But what if joining up with Bill’s crowd had made it easier for him?

“...Okay, then, where were you when that happened?”

Ford looked down at his feet, and finally mumbled, “...I was studying this tribe of gnomes I’d found on the other side of the continent.”

Despite himself, Stan barked out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, okay, I can believe that.”

Ford looked up at him in surprise, before the corner of his mouth turned up, and he gave a soft chuckle of his own.

And for one wonderful moment, they weren’t an angel and a demon anymore; they were just Stan and Ford, having a good laugh and enjoying each other’s company.

It didn’t last as long as either of them would have liked; thunder rumbled overhead, reminding them what they’d been talking about, and they both looked away uncomfortably, before at last going their separate ways.

He knew Ford had said what he did about the kids just to get under his skin, because he was a stuck-up son of a gun like that...but it lingered with Stan all the rest of the day and into the night. The angel found himself wandering through one of the towns, counting the number of children he could sense sleeping innocently, or even being troublesome but just because they were young and hadn’t been taught any better…

And finally, when the rains started falling, he came to a decision.

* * *

Needless to say, gathering up all the kids wasn’t as easy as all that-not even for an angel.

There were some parents who happily gave them up; he hoped that they would drown as slowly and painfully as possible.

Others, however, didn’t want to cooperate, because they didn’t believe that the world was about to be flooded and saw no reason why their children should be taken away by this strange pale man. He couldn’t interfere with free will, so several times Stan was forced to just bonk them on the head and make a mental note not to mention that in his reports-not that he’d be mentioning  _ any _ of this in his reports, come to think of it, since he was pretty sure Upstairs would object. He’d just-just say he was watching over things when the flooding started, making sure nobody tried vandalizing the ark and stuff.

Some kids, even when he explained the situation to them, didn’t want to go, and for now at least he was forced to leave them be.

The worst was when the kids he managed to lead away asked  _ why _ .

Why couldn’t he save their parents too?

Why was this happening?

Why did God want to kill everyone?

The best he could offer was that it was something about the ineffable plan, and shut yer yaps cuz they were going past the house of this one creep who was...very  _ fond _ of children. Stan couldn’t bring himself to feel any godly sorrow over his impending death.

He had just left another house, leading a three-year-old by the hand and cradling her baby brother in the other-when he came face to face with his own brother.

Standing on the other side of the street, hair for once laid flat by the rain-and carrying a child that Stan had been unable to take away.

For a few seconds they just stared at each other.

Then, after looking both ways (what a  _ dork _ ), Ford crossed the street.

“...How’d you persuade his parents?” Stan asked once he was close enough.

“I made them fall asleep,” he said shortly.

Stan blinked. “You can do that?”

“You could do that too if you ever paid attention to the archangels’ lectures.”

“Whatever.”

Together they managed to gather the last few children, since as a demon Ford had no problem with just making people fall asleep (something Stan kicked himself for not thinking of sooner).

The problem, however, was what to do with all of them.

The ark was all filled up, and even if they tried squeezing them in somewhere there was a chance they’d be caught.

“Maybe we can just create a big bubble of air at the bottom of the ocean,” Stan suggested.

“And make it last for over forty days?” Ford shook his head. “It would need to be replenished, and this many people needing to breathe would mean that it wouldn’t last long anyway, Stanley.”

“Well we gotta do  _ something _ !” Stan threw up his hands in frustration. “Can’t we just-make it so they can breathe underwater or something?!”

He and Ford froze, and looked at each other in sudden realization.

* * *

Needless to say, the children were still very scared and bewildered about what these two strange men were doing to them.

But as the rain fell harder and harder, and the waters around them rose higher and higher, they stopped protesting and meekly allowed them to touch their hands to the sides of their necks, and then their hands and feet.

When they were done, tiny slits had sprouted up in their necks, and their hands and feet became long and webbed, perfect for swimming underwater.

“Your people are not going to be happy if they learn about this,” Ford pointed out as they finished.

Stan bristled at how easily he referred to them as “your people,” not “our people.” “While yours are definitely gonna give you a gold medal, huh?”

Ford looked down at the toddler he was holding, instead of meeting his eyes. “...It’s technically thwarting the Lord’s will. If they have to find out, surely they will find that acceptable.”

“Uh-huh.”

The water had risen up to their waists by now, and some of the smaller children were trying out their new gills; the excitement over their cool new ability made them forget to be afraid.

And even if it was breaking the rules...Stan felt like he’d done a good thing.

He  _ and _ Ford, whether his demon brother would admit it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The descendants of these children would evolve with time, developing fishtails and extra hearts, among other unique changes. Some of them would migrate to the sea near a land that would come to be known as Mexico.


	3. Demon in denial

Ford was sure that he’d made the right choice.

Of course, it was a little jarring to have suddenly tumbled from heaven into a world that was composed almost entirely of fire and brimstone, not to mention the first time he looked in a mirror and saw what had happened to his eyes as a result of his fall from grace.

And as time went by, he realized that he didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the group that had followed Bill. Xanthar and Hectorgon and Keyhole and everyone else had...slightly different ideas about how to handle humanity than he did. Some of them were things that made Ford...a little uncomfortable, like encouraging humans to enslave each other, or commit acts that were supposedly ones of pleasure but seemed to do more harm than good to them in the long run.

But he was still sure he’d made the right choice.

Sometimes Bill would show up to see how he was doing in his post on earth, and they’d talk about how things were going with enlightening humanity. They’d play a game of senet while they talked, or backgammon once it was invented, as Ford explained how he’d appeared to a few humans wearing an animal head, in order to introduce idolatry into the world, or helped one king discover his brother’s treacherous plan to overthrow him, leading to the country being divided up by war.

Bill would clap gleefully and laugh, and tell him that all this chaos was good for humanity because it kept their lives interesting. And if Ford expressed concern for all the people getting hurt in the process, Bill told him not to worry about that, it was all part of the game. Then he went off to appear in a pharaoh’s dreams and encourage him to create giant triangle-shaped buildings in his honor.

He didn’t seem overly thrilled that Ford, rather than constantly making life difficult for humans, preferred to be off studying unusual creatures half the time, but he never outright objected to it either. Not like the other demons who whined about how ‘boring’ Ford was, since most of the time he never even tried to tempt people, anomalous or otherwise, into  _ doing  _ anything, and there were a few times when some other demon had to do his job because he’d gotten distracted by the migration patterns of manticores or something.

Ford was still sure he’d made the right choice.

Somehow, he never managed to bring up what was  _ definitely not _ the best part of being stationed on earth: getting to see Stanley every once in a while.

Separating from his brother was the one thing he’d regretted about leaving heaven, but he’d told himself that Stanley just didn’t understand Bill’s vision, and that it would be for the best for him to stay behind. But it had still been a welcome surprise, once that business with the apple was finished, to find that of all people, Stan was the one guarding the garden afterwards. Even if the meeting had been less than pleasant.

Even if seeing him was always a little painful, because they were on opposite sides now.

Even if their work saving the children from the Flood together was probably just a one-time thing. That was no reason to feel a small ache in his chest every time he happened to run into his brother when they were going about their respective duties.

* * *

Ford was absolutely-without-a-doubt sure he’d made the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Sure, Ford. Sure.


	4. Vignettes in time

**1510**

**Hospital of Santa Maria Nuova, Florence**

“...The Church is going to give me hell for this if they find out. Literally.”

Ford laughed a little bit as he helped Signor da Vinci lay the corpse on the table and spread out a set of surgical knives and a bowl of water next to it. “Possibly, but just _think_ about how much you’ll be able to learn! Dissection will not only help you paint people more accurately, but maybe future generations will understand how the human body works with more accuracy! It will be a great contribution to both the arts _and_ the sciences!”

Da Vinci nodded thoughtfully, and after another moment of indecision his hand closed around a scalpel.

“Let’s see what we can learn, then, Signor Pino.*”

As he worked, he took meticulous (albeit encrypted) notes in his notebook, including detailed illustrations of the different layers of muscle and bone that he uncovered. Ford helped out whenever he required assistance, making plenty of observations of his own. He didn’t notice that at one point, da Vinci took a break from studying the corpse and did a few sketches of Ford’s hands.**

“You know,” da Vinci mused as they were cleaning up afterwards, “I can’t find anything in the body related to humours. They’re not in the ventricles or the cerebral spaces, or anywhere else you’d expect. I’m beginning to think they aren’t a scientifically sound principle at all.”

Ford tried not to be too openly excited that his guidance in the right direction was clearly paying off. “Really? How interesting!”

“ _Si_ , _si_ , it truly is...” da Vinci nodded thoughtfully. He blinked, returning to himself, and smiled at Ford. “Well, thank you for all your help, Signor Pino.”

He extended a hand, and Ford shook warmly.

“The pleasure was all mine.”

Bill awarded Ford with a letter of condemnation for his work in successfully “corrupting” the man who would go on to become one of, if not _the_ , world’s most famous polymaths.

It stopped the other demons from complaining about him for a while, so Ford couldn’t find it in him to admit that he hadn’t actually done much in the way of tempting da Vinci; if he hadn’t been there, the man probably would have performed these studies all on his own.

* * *

*When da Vinci had asked what his name was, Ford panicked; the only name he’d been able to think of on such short notice belonged to a type of tree he particularly liked, which mostly grew over on the continent that would come to be known as North America. His future pseudonyms would basically all be variants of the word “pine” or “pine tree.”

**They were the thing that had drawn his attention to the demon when they first met; unlike other people who noticed Ford’s extra finger, however, he had not been perturbed by them. Instead, he had been fascinated, thus beginning a most unusual friendship. Unfortunately, the notebook containing his sketches of Ford’s hands was one of those that would later become lost to history.

* * *

**1773**

**Griffin’s Wharf, Boston**

It wasn’t like Stan even _liked_ tea. The stuff was basically hot leaf juice, eugh. Give him a good mug of coffee any day.

He just knew that it wasn’t fair for England to keep taxing America like this, and if causing a little trouble helped the colonists out in the long run, well, why shouldn’t he give them a hand?

That idiot Hutchinson had refused to send the ships back where they came from, so now about 130 men who’d had enough were sneaking aboard on a cold December night, ready to take action.

Stan was the one who’d suggested beforehand that many of them disguise themselves as Mohawk Indians, because it would be kind of difficult to keep this revolution going if they all got caught in the act.

As he helped pass tea chests to the side of the boat so they could be tossed overboard, Stan reflected that this was yet another thing he’d have to keep out of his reports.

The last time he’d gotten personally involved in a human rebellion and been dumb enough to mention it to upstairs, Gideon had told Filbrick.

The archangel had not looked favorably on him for his behavior, and in fact had given him a three day lecture (no, that’s not a typo) on how encouraging that kind of truant behavior among humans was just another sign that _he_ should have fallen instead of Ford. Pointing out that the people were trying to get free of a tyrannical and oppressive government had not helped his case at all.

So if anyone asked, Stan was on the other side of the world, providing spiritual comfort to sick widows and orphans or whatever. Filbrick probably wouldn’t be interested enough to check if it was true. Though maybe after he was done here, he’d have to slip over and actually _give_ a little comfort to some people, because _Gideon_ might want to confirm it; the little weasel was a lot more thorough about that kind of thing.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when one of the other guys grinned at Stan through his (very inaccurately applied) warpaint as he passed him a new tea chest.

“Some night, huh?” he asked.

Stan heaved the chest into the ocean, which created a resounding splash, and dusted off his hands.

“Yup.”

* * *

**1862**

**Fredericksburg, Virginia**

This war had been going on for far longer than Ford had expected.

The other demons were revelling in it; a few of them, like Xanthar and Hectorgon, would even come upstairs and possess soldiers during especially violent battles, or just hover above them invisibly, encouraging them to more escalated levels of violence. Even though on principle many demons were claiming to be rooting for the Confederate side,*** it didn’t matter if the people they possessed were wearing blue or gray, as long as they were willing to continue butchering each other.

* * *

***Since they were rebels, and as fallen angels themselves they were all in favor of humans rebelling; even if it did bug them that a lot of the people saw themselves as God-fearing Christians, it just made Bill more gleeful that despite their beliefs they were still involving themselves in wholesale slaughter.

* * *

...Personally, Ford couldn’t see the appeal.

He didn’t even want to be here right now; he would have preferred to be off investigating this interesting valley on the other side of the continent that had caught his attention a few decades back. But Bill had insisted he put in an appearance at least once, so here he was, freezing to death in the cold weather despite his thick gray captain’s coat, while before him hundreds of humans lay dying and dead on the battlefield, and he could see the Union soldiers preparing to withdraw.

He hoped Bill hadn’t expected him to participate in any of the actual _fighting_.

And then, to his surprise, he noticed something peculiar happening to the sky.

Along the northern horizon, a flash of color suddenly appeared against the darkness.

It started out small, and then steadily grew, splaying itself across the sky in increasing eddies that rose and fell, and as Ford watched, exploded into vibrant colors, primarily flashing in red, white and blue, but with various other colors appearing at random. All around him, people stopped what they were doing to watch the display in awe; one troop of soldiers actually retreated in panic.

_An aurora borealis._

_That’s incredible!_

_...And unusual that it should be taking place this far south._

His suspicions alerted, Ford miracled a small concealment around himself, and then flew off to investigate.

He didn’t have to look far; sitting on a rooftop in Charlottesville was a familiar gray-haired figure, who occasionally waved a hand towards the sky. Every time he did, the colors would fluctuate and change, adding to the unique beauty of the aurora.

Unlike Ford, he was dressed in dark civilian clothes, the kind that could pass for either north or south. He also had a large leather satchel resting by his side, and on occasion he would dig into it and pop something into his mouth.

“Hey, Sixer,” Stan said without looking at Ford as he landed on the roof. “Long time no see.”

“What are you doing?” Ford demanded.

“Tryna send a message ta those bozos ta stop fighting and go home,” Stan retorted. He waved his hand again, making the aurora pulse with light. “Though I probably oughta make it a little more obvious if I wanna get it through their thick skulls: maybe make ‘SLAVERY IS BAD’ show up in the middle of the lights, ya think?” He offered a dry smile which Ford did not return.

“This war is about far more than just slavery, Stanley,” he growled. “The Confederates are fighting for their right to their way of life-”

“Which is ta enslave people,” Stan said bluntly. He put his hand in the satchel again. “You can argue about economic crap or whatever all ya want, but what it all boils down to is that the guys in gray want the 'freedom' ta use other people like cattle, and the guys in blue don’t want ‘em ta do that anymore.”

All Ford could do was let out an irritated huff, and turn away to glare in the direction of the battlefield.

For a while there was silence, save for the sound of chewing.

Finally Ford’s curiosity won out over his annoyance, and he looked back at his brother.

“Why are you eating?”

Stan shrugged. “Figured out I get cranky if I get hungry.”

“Angels don’t get hungry.”

“That’s cuz most of ‘em never try eating.” He put another piece of food into his mouth. “Besides, it tastes good.”

Ford tilted his head. “...Tastes?”

“Yeah, it’s one of the five senses things.” Stan pulled a brown paper bag out of his satchel, and offered it. “Here, try some. I got toffee peanuts, and these new things here called jelly beans; you might like ‘em.”

Ford weighed the options in his mind.

On one hand, it would be sharing food with the ~~alleged~~ enemy. Plus, he’d never really seen the appeal in eating before; it seemed to cause humanity so many problems, which at the worst meant they would become overweight from doing too much of it,**** and at the very worst meant being removed from the Garden of Eden forever.

* * *

****As Stanley’s form seemed to be doing.

* * *

...On the other hand, indulging in forbidden (or at least not encouraged) pleasures would probably be considered a proper, demon-y thing to do. And it would be something new and interesting to study.

At last Ford reached into the bag and extracted a small, blue, gelatin-coated blob.

“How do I do this?” he asked.

Stan made an amused sound. “Ya put it in your mouth, and bite down with your teeth. That’s called ‘chewing.’”

“I _know_ what chewing is,” Ford muttered irritably as he lifted the blob to his mouth.

“Then after that, ya just swallow it,” Stan went on, sounding even more amused. If he said anything after that, though, it was lost to Ford after he bit down on the blob, and it-

Well, the best way he could describe it was that it _exploded_ across his tongue.

Ford’s eyes widened, and his jaw went slack.

“...Oh. Oh my.”

Eagerly he moved the pieces of the-the jelly bean, from side to side of his mouth, marveling at the sensation he was experiencing.

_So this is what ‘taste’ is like._

_...Amazing._

Finally he remembered Stan’s final instruction and swallowed the pieces of the food, and without really thinking about it he sat down next to his brother, digging his hand back into the bag and grabbing a new jelly bean so he could experience the feeling again.

There it was again, only even better because this time he knew what to do. Ford made an enraptured sound.

“...This is _magic_ ,” he whispered, staring at the bag.

Stan snorted. “It gets better. There’s ones in there that’re totally different flavors.”

Ford blinked. “What’s a flavor?”

“...It’s kinda hard ta describe until you’ve tried more than one of ‘em. Here, have one that’s a different color.” Stan gave him a jelly bean that was red this time.

Ford obediently ate it-and couldn’t believe what he was feeling happen in his mouth. It was an _entirely new_ type of tongue-explosion.

“So the food... _changes_?” he asked.

Stan snickered. “You should try liquor sometime. It’ll blow your mind.”

Ford was too busy digging through the bag in search of new _flavors_ to respond.

After a few minutes, Stan looked back in the direction of the battlefield and sighed.

“...They’re probably not gonna stop fighting anytime soon, are they?”

Ford came out of his jelly bean-worshipping reverie for a moment as reality reasserted itself.

“...I suppose not.” He sighed with equal unhappiness, and swallowed.

“Seems like every time we turn around, humans are fighting over something else.”

“Not too different from angels and demons, really.”

Stan laughed mirthlessly.

Then, after a second, he glanced at Ford. “Hey. Do you ever think about…” He shook his head. “Nah, never mind.”

“No, go on.” Ford munched another jelly bean.

“...Ever think about just getting away from it all? All the human crap, all the demon and angel crap, and just...I dunno-getting on a boat and sailing away?”

“There are plenty of humans who sail on the ocean too,” Ford felt obligated to remind him. “And I’m sure they are perfectly capable of getting involved in war as much as those who live on land.”

“Yeah, but still-feels like it’d be a chance ta be...free. Go searching for treasure, or weird kindsa animals and monsters, like one of those adventure stories people like ta write.” Stan waved a hand dramatically, like he was picturing the ocean in his mind-before lowering it with a sigh. “Eh, forget it, it’s stupid.”

Maybe it was that he was still intoxicated from the jelly beans, but something made Ford say, “No, no, it doesn’t sound stupid. It sounds...perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

For about half an hour they sat and silently ate their candy, just watching the colors dancing in the sky. Then Stan at last waved his fingers, and started making the aurora dissipate.

“Maybe we should do it,” he mused. “Just get on a boat and sail away.”

Ford stared at him in surprise. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“Because we have responsibilities! And-And I’m a demon, and you’re an angel! We can’t just-”

Stan’s shoulders drooped. “Oh. Yeah. Almost forgot.” He stuffed a handful of toffee peanuts savagely into his mouth.

Ford finally got up, adjusting his coat collar and cap in an almost indignant manner. Clearly he’d been here too long; Bill and the others were probably wondering what had become of him. If they caught him _fraternizing_ with the enemy-

Just the thought made him shiver a little inside.

He offered the bag of (precious, amazing) jelly beans back to Stan, who waved them away.

“Keep ‘em. I like the toffee peanuts better.”

It felt so wrong for a demon to be giving in to the temptations of an angel.

Ford stuffed the bag into his coat pocket anyway, before abruptly opening his wings and flying off.

He barely heard Stan’s snide call of “You’re welcome!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, a lot of this stuff is true.  
> Leonardo da Vinci illegally dissected corpses to study anatomy; I don't know if he ever actually got excommunicated for it, though.  
> During the Boston Tea Party some of the people disguised themselves as Mohawk warriors so they would be harder to identify if they got caught.  
> And at the end of the Battle of Fredericksburg a freak aurora borealis showed up.
> 
> ...Can you tell I'm a bit of a history nerd?
> 
> Also, sorry if I offend anyone from the Southern United States.


	5. War is hell, hell is empty, and the devil is...drunk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested, today is my birthday.
> 
> Also, I have never been drunk in my life, or had any experience with alcohol. As will probably be obvious when you read a certain part of the chapter.

**1917**

**Western Front, Europe**

Ford was very confused.

Earlier today, in a puff of smoke and sparks because Bill was theatrical like that, a new letter of condemnation had appeared at his elbow, praising him and a few other demons for “all that stuff going on in Europe”* and in essence telling him to keep up the good work.

The confusing part was that Ford had had absolutely zero idea that _anything_ was going on in Europe; he’d spent the last few years traveling back and forth between Indonesia and the Philippines studying the remarkable similarities between their respective types of cryptids in an attempt to discern if there was a common link between them, and remaining blissfully out of touch with anything else that might be happening in the world.

After he spent some time puzzling over it, the demon decided that he probably ought to go over to Europe and see what all the fuss was about-if nothing else so he could know what he was being given credit for.

*In contrast with some types of demons, who revel in the torments of red tape and bureaucracy and creating contracts filled with complicated words that seemingly used every letter in the alphabet to form themselves, Bill never seemed to care that much about formality.

* * *

He found out fairly quickly, just materializing on a corner of town in London.

Everywhere he turned, Ford heard about the War: newspapers were writing about the War, people were gathering scrap metal and rubber tires to help out with the War, women were worrying about family members not coming home from the War.

They called it the Great War, the War to end all Wars. England, France and Russia on one side, Germany and Austro-Hungary on the other, with talk that perhaps soon America would join the Allies and maybe they could finally win this War.

...It sounded even more intense than the American Civil War had been.

Even though he knew what was going on now, and that should have been enough to satisfy him, Ford decided to check out this Western Front everyone kept going on about, reasoning that as horrifying as they all made it out to be, it couldn’t possibly be worse than what he’d seen in Fredericksburg.

* * *

It was much, much worse.

* * *

Sometime later, a very white-faced, nauseous demon moved as far away from the Western Front and no man’s land as he could get,** and stepped into a convenient alleyway, where he leaned his back against the bricks and tried to collect himself.

He’d always been aware, ever since he first learned that Cain had let his jealousy for Abel consume him, that humans were capable of killing each other. It was something Bill and the other demons had pointed out often enough, and admittedly spent a fair amount of time encouraging in the souls of certain humans who they were trying to tempt.

But this…

This was bad.

**Or at least to downtown New York, which was good enough for him at the moment.

Ford wanted to talk to someone about it-except he knew his fellow demons were all, if not actively participating in it, at the very least had been aware all this time what was going on, and completely enjoying it.

No.

He knew who he wanted to talk to.

Fortunately, he just needed to stretch out his senses a little bit to figure out where he was.

* * *

Stan was sitting on the edge of a dock on the shore of New Jersey, swinging his legs back and forth and watching the waves as he leaned his chin in his hands, enjoying the comparative peace and quiet.

He knew that any day now America was finally gonna get involved in this stupid war and (hopefully) change things for the better; the Germans had deliberately sunk some American ships, so now it was personal. He guessed he should just count himself lucky that he was unlikely to be drafted, since he was a) in a body that wasn’t exactly in the prime of youth, and b) without an address or legal identity.

A _real_ angel would probably already be over in Europe, working single-handedly to bring the war to a standstill, he mused bitterly to himself.

Gideon had expressed that point of view with great disdain, the last time Stan had checked in with upstairs; he’d worn this haughty look all over his chubby little face, and said, “I’m surprised at you, Stanley-if I had your job I’d be putting more effort into creating peace and harmony for all mankind!”

Stan had just made a certain gesture at him before breaking the connection; it hadn’t been worth trying to explain that this war was a bigger problem than one angel could fix. It wasn’t just an issue of a Serbian assassinating Archduke Ferdinand, or whatever other stupid reasons historians would come up with for what started the war. It was based on several different groups of idiots who really wanted to fight each other finally getting the opportunity, and getting lots of other idiots to join their respective sides, and then all getting together and blowing each other apart in increasingly creative ways.

Besides, it was harder to work noticeable miracles nowadays, when there were less and less people who believed in angels, and instead believed in Scientific Explanations for Unusual Events.

Then Stan heard the sound of boots walking on the dock, and felt a familiar presence behind him, and glanced over his shoulder to see the utterly shattered-looking figure of his brother.

“Ford? What happened?!” Stan pulled himself around and got to his feet.

Ford came closer, and tapped the side of his glasses; immediately the shading faded, allowing Stan to see his eyes. Despite their creepy serpentine appearance, they were very visibly haunted.

“Stanley, were you aware that there’s a war on?” he asked in a shattered whisper.

Stan stopped, and tilted his head, trying to gauge if he was serious. And after a second, he concluded that yes, he was.

“...Uh, yeah. I’ve known that for kinda a long time.”

“Well, up until recently I didn’t.”

Stan took a hesitant step closer. “...How’d ya find out?”

“I paid a visit to this place called the Western Front, in an effort to understand what the big deal was.”

Stan sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Ooh.”

Ford’s chin dipped in a small nod, before he said softly, “I believe you told me once that I ought to try liquor. I would like to right now.”

“Yeah, I gotcha.” He put a hand on Ford’s arm. “C’mon.”

Some of the finer connoisseurs would probably have recommended a bottle of finely aged wine, kept for decades in a cellar and allowed to breathe for a minute after the cork was at last removed.

Someone concerned about them drinking responsibly would probably have recommended a weak beer, especially since this was Ford’s first time trying alcohol.

Stan stole six bottles of whiskey from the home of a man who kept beating his wife whenever he’d had a little too much to drink, and miracled open the door of a closed department store whose director kept leaching money out of his employees’ paychecks; from there he led Ford to a secluded part of the store with some comfortable furniture, and sat him down on a big plush sofa, sitting down at the opposite end and passing him a bottle.

“Ya might wanna take it slow,” he warned as Ford opened it, “It’s gonna have a bit of a strong-”

Ford had already tilted his head back and started chugging it down.

“...Or you can do that.” Stan shrugged, and began doing more or less the same thing.

* * *

Three hours later, angel and demon had been steadily drinking pretty much nonstop, and were both now in an extreme state of inebriation that required them to kick their shoes off and flop around like ragdolls.

“I-I mean-I-I’m certain Bill has a-a Good Reason for wanting this ta happen,” Ford slurred, shrugging out of his long coat and draping it over his legs. “He’s-got a reason fer _everything_ he does.” He blinked a few times. “...Course, sometimes it’s cuz-cuz it’s _fun_ fer ‘im. But thassa _good_ reason, right?”

Stan scoffed. “‘S just a stupid triangle, not the-center of the-flippin’ universe. I don’t think it’s good at all.”

Ford gave him a half-hearted glare. “Whatever. We’re not supposed ta be _good_ anyway. We’re demons. Demons’re _bad_.”

_And yet here you are, getting drunk out of your mind because you’re upset about watching a bunch of humans killing each other._

Unfortunately, Stan’s totally sloshed brain was currently incapable of articulating this in a sensible fashion, so he just grabbed one of the bottles still containing liquid and began trying to remember how to get it to his mouth.

After a minute, Ford whispered, “He’s giving me some credit fer it all.”

“Huh?” Stan fumbled his grip on the bottle, barely caught it before it could spill all over him.

“Bill. Sent me a letter ‘bout it. Actually thought I was involved in-in the _trenches_ , and the _tanks_ , and the _tear gas_.” He spat the words out venomously, digging his fingers into the top of the coat. “As if humans need any help from us ta create such things!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, humans’re b-bar-studs.” Stan was pretty sure he’d got that wrong, but didn’t feel like trying to correct himself. He just burrowed farther back into the sofa, and squinted at Ford through bleary eyes. “Are ya gonna tell him ya weren’t?”

Ford’s three blurry faces all looked aghast. “I’m not _suicidal_ , Stanley. Just horrified.”

“Good boy. Jes’ checkin’.” After fumbling around for a second, Stan managed to find his brother’s knee and give it a couple of firm pats. “Want ya ta stay safe, knucklehead.”

A few seconds later his touch went slack, as he slipped into an alcohol-induced sleep.

He missed the way Ford’s hand made a minute twitch in his direction, before he lowered it and followed suit.

* * *

When Ford woke up hours later, with his head feeling like a metal plate had been hammered to the inside of his skull, he was alone. But there was a full bottle of whiskey left at his elbow, along with a new bag of jelly beans, and he was covered in a concealment that allowed him to slip out of the store without getting caught by management.

Even without it, though, there’s a chance he wouldn’t have been noticed in all the commotion; the owner of the department store was getting publicly arrested because evidence had mysteriously turned up that he was embezzling from the company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best explanation I've ever heard for how World War I got started is from the show _Blackadder Goes Forth _, and can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGxAYeeyoIc.__
> 
> _  
> _Nobody does nasal disdain quite as well as Rowan Atkinson._  
>  _


	6. The real Dark Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for any grave errors I make in portraying Nazis; most of my knowledge of them is based on "Life is Beautiful," "Indiana Jones," "Hogan's Heroes," and similar shows.
> 
> Trigger warning: there is an implied attempted sexual assault in this chapter.

**1943**

**Somewhere close to where Germany meets the ocean**

It was late at night, as was usually the case for secret and forbidden actions like the one that was taking place down this road. To any human eyes, it would look completely empty; but to the eyes of most things supernatural, they would see a large black car driving along, with two similar-looking men in the front in dark, nondescript suits, and a crowd of terrified people all clustered together in the back, hidden under blankets and pieces of furniture.

If they got caught, Ford doubted he could come up with a suitable explanation to Bill about why he was doing this; it couldn’t count as undermining the Adversary, because this treatment of the Jews was clearly not something God wanted. This was not something _any_ sane person would ever have wanted.* The closest explanation he could think of was “I was just trying to keep things interesting,” which had worked a few times in the past when other demons caught him doing things that were distinctly Not Appropriate Demonic Behavior. They were often very begrudging about it, but it worked just the same.

*Which brought into question why people in America and other parts of the world had let it go on for so long and done nothing about it, but it probably had something to do with the innate contrariness of human nature.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Stanley’s voice.

“ _Relax_ , Poindexter. You keep tensing up like that and that thing isn’t gonna hold.”

Ford glanced at Stan, whose eyes remained glued to the road as he manipulated the wheel. Occasionally he’d have to squint to see through the concealment Ford was holding around them, and at one point he’d accidentally hit a row of trash cans because he hadn’t noticed they were there, but on the whole they were making good time.

“...You’re sure they don’t recognize our true nature?” He made sure to speak in English, a language none of the people in the back were able to understand.

“ _Yes_ , I’m sure,” Stan growled in the tone of a man who is tired of being asked that question. “I just told ‘em to stay low and keep quiet, and I don’t think they’re gonna argue with the guys who’re saving their lives.”

“I’m just trying to be careful! We can’t afford to be together any longer than-you missed the turn!”

“Only cuz you keep badgering me instead of navigating like you’re supposed to-!”

* * *

...Despite their bickering, soon they could see the coast through their front windshield.

Stan’s hands tightened around the wheel anxiously. “Think you can keep this up for another hour?”

There were beads of sweat standing out against his hairline, but the demon nodded. “I can handle it.”

“Well, let me know if you need more power.” Stan pushed down on the gas pedal more firmly, and the car sped forward (somewhat beyond what were considered safe driving conditions for human occupants, but there was no need to tell them that).

This was the most dangerous part of their journey: trying to sneak everyone past the Atlantic Wall down to the shoreline. Stan got as close as he dared, and then turned off the car’s engine.

“You doing okay?” he asked, glancing at Ford.

“I’m holding up.”

Stan put a hesitant hand on his shoulder for a moment, before getting out of the car and going around to the back.

“ _Okay, komm schon,_ ” he whispered to the group of people as he opened the doors. “ _Waren hier._ ”

One by one they climbed out of the car, stretching their cramped limbs and giving each other nervous looks. Stan pushed a little bit of extra strength and courage into their hearts, just in case, and then waited until Ford got out of the car and brought the concealment over to them; then the group quietly began creeping into the darkness.

There was only a half moon out; plenty of shadows to hide in, but just enough light to not need flashlights. They wouldn’t have needed the latter anyway, on account of all the searchlights that shone here and there, and which they needed to keep hiding from. Stan _really_ hoped he wouldn’t have to use the gun he had stuffed in one of his coat pockets. He’d realized they were necessary sometimes, but he didn’t like using them if he could use his fists or angelic powers instead.

Down at the shore, stuffed into a cave so the Nazis wouldn’t find it, was a boat, just big enough to carry everyone. Stan had blessed it beforehand so that it would take the group to England safely; all they needed to do was get everyone aboard.

They were about halfway there, when Ford’s concealment died. They were currently clustered together in a shadowy area out of sight of the watchtowers, but it still almost gave Stan a heart attack.**

“Ford!” he hissed.

“I’m sorry, I just need a quick break!” Ford hissed back. “I’ve never done this for so long before!” His expression was strained, and Stan could tell he’d been pushing himself more than a little.

“Okay, just-be careful, or we’re gonna get-”

A harsh German voice suddenly barked that familiar, hateful phrase: “ _HALT!_ ”

**Or it would have, if angels were susceptible to them.

* * *

Stan muttered a phrase of his own as a flashlight beam abruptly shined in his face, and a pair of soldiers approached.

One of them was a sergeant, big and red-faced; the other looked more like just a common foot soldier. Both were carrying guns that they clearly knew how to use.

Ford peered into their minds as they came closer, as he struggled to collect himself. He realized that it was no good trying to work with the sergeant; his mind was too filled with small-minded nastiness and a streak of vicious hatred, in addition to ambition and hunger for promotion.

The foot soldier, however…

“ _Bleib wo du bist!_ ” the sergeant ordered as he got close, pointing his rifle at them. “ _Wer bist du?_ ” He smiled savagely as he examined their terrified faces. “ _Seid ihr Juden?_ ”

_We don’t have time for this._

A second later, a shot rang out, and the sergeant fell to the ground, with a rapidly-reddening hole in his chest and a look of open-mouthed surprise on his face. And behind him, the soldier was staring in shock at his own still-raised gun, hands trembling as slow realization set in about what he had just done.

Ford lowered his glasses, enough for the man to get a good look at the color of his eyes, and said softly, “ _Verlassen. Jetzt._ ”

He did.

“...He’d been wanting to do it anyway,” Ford whispered to Stan, as they herded the now-even-more-traumatized group down to the cave before people could come investigate all the noise. “He hated the sergeant for a number of reasons, and being in the army for even more. He’s probably going to run away to Brazil, or somewhere else that he can hide.”

“I’m sure your people’ll be thrilled by that explanation if they find out!” Stan growled, helping a frail old woman into the boat, followed by her grandson. “What were you thinking, you knucklehead?!”

...Truth be told, Ford hadn’t. But he wasn’t about to admit that. All he said was, “Bill never strictly said we had to support the German army. It’s still causing mischief among humans and making their lives more difficult.”

He saw the corner of Stan’s mouth rise. “You’re the king of technicalities, Poindexter.”

Just before the last person got aboard, a young man who looked to be about in his late twenties, he turned to face them.

The two old men looked at him in confusion-but all he did was dip his head, and whisper softly, “ _Danke, Väter._ ”

Neither of them were really used to being thanked-at least not for something this extreme. Of course, Stan didn’t usually do his acts of good will when people could see him, and Ford wasn’t supposed to do them at all...but the point still stood.

Ford looked down, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck, and Stan just cleared his throat gruffly and said, “ _Kein Problem. Jetzt geh. Geh!_ ”

The young man beamed at them, before scrambling into the boat with the others. After that, it only required the angel and the demon to push it into the water, and watch until it was safely out to sea.

* * *

**1979**

**Philadelphia**

There had been rumors about a bus to nowhere traveling around Chicago in the recent cryptid magazines, and Ford wanted to see if they were true.

As he wandered the darkest, loneliest streets he could find, he reviewed in his mind everything he knew about the alleged vehicle: it didn’t have a destination sign or route number, and it was known for picking up lonely or depressed people. If you wanted to get on, you had to chase after it without waiting for it to slow down-but if you did get on, when you got off again there was no telling how long you had been aboard. It could be for just a few minutes, or perhaps a few days, or even _years_ might have gone by in the time when you were on the bus. Ford wanted to find out if it had some kind of connection to the world of fairies; the time lapse caused between traveling to either was similar enough to make him suspicious.

 _If it turns out that the Fair Folk_ are _involved, it would be a fascinating contribution to my research!_ he thought excitedly.

In recent years Ford had established a kind of semi-permanent home for himself: a small log cabin over on the west coast, specifically in the woods surrounding a town known as Gravity Falls that was a hotspot for supernatural events. He’d visited the valley it inhabited many times over the centuries, drawn to the strangeness of it, but after all the madness of the second world war (Second! Wasn’t the first one enough for them?!) he’d decided that he needed to get away from humanity altogether for a while, and just...moved in.*** For ten years straight he’d had no contact with any sentient beings besides gnomes, zombies, and other inhabitants of the Gravity Falls forest, and it had given him an eventual semblance of peace.

Much to his frustration, he still hadn’t been able to figure out _why_ Gravity Falls seemed to draw so much weirdness. Was it a common ancestor in all its inhabitants? An ancient cursed talisman buried somewhere under the town? Aliens?

The elusive answer both vexed and enticed the demon, very much like the apple that had first sent humanity out into the world.

It was only in recent decades that he’d felt comfortable going out into the world again; even now, though, Ford tried to ignore current events and the dealings of humans, and focused more on studying whatever unique cryptids or urban legends he could find.

He was happier that way.

***A little part of him had thought about contacting Stanley and finally taken him up on that offer to just sail away from everything...but he reminded himself firmly that Stan was an angel, and he was a demon, and it was just too risky for both of them in case their superiors decided to check up on them.

* * *

Ford wandered down another street, looking for people who seemed particularly likely to lure the bus to them because they were depressed. Maybe if one of them got onboard he could follow them on? Was there some kind of magnetic influence that drew the bus to them, or the other way around? What did-

“Help!”

Ford froze.

Had he just heard-?

“Help me! He-”

The scream was abruptly cut off; in a side alley, Ford’s sharp ears picked up the sounds of a struggle.

He glanced around to see if anyone else who might have heard the cry was going to respond to it; barely anyone was out on the street this late at night, and the few people who were seemed absorbed in tasks they thought were more important.

With a small groan, Ford turned up his coat collar and plunged into the alley.

A young woman was at the end of it, struggling with a man who seemed like your average street scum. Worse than that, in fact, because he was holding a knife to her throat with one hand, while the other hand reached up the front of her blouse.

Angels and demons aren’t sexual, unless they really want to make the effort, but Ford knew enough to understand what was going on. A sudden red mist swam in front of his eyes, and without any further hesitation he _moved_.

In what would have seemed like a large blur to human eyes, he surged forward, grabbing the beast and yanking him off the woman; his wrist was snapped, forcing him to drop the knife, and the back of his head was slammed into the wall.

The woman stared at Ford as he at last came into focus with wide, tearful eyes. “How-who-”

Ford looked at her. “I suggest that you hurry home now, ma’am.”

Her head bobbed in a tiny, frightened nod, before she gathered up her purse and ran out of the alley.

Once she was gone, Ford’s gaze turned back to the terrified man he was pinning in place, and his hand tightened a fraction around his throat.

“Listen to me closely, worm. If you ever try something like you just tried to do to her _again_ , I will find you. And I will make you regret it. I will make you regret it for a very, _very_ long time.”

The man’s mouth started to open.

“Don’t speak. I don’t want to hear your voice. Just nod to show that you understand.”

The man’s greasy, unshaven chin gave a faint dip up and down.

“Good.” Slowly Ford’s talons-sorry, _fingers_ , they were just fingers now-uncurled. “Now go to the emergency room and tell them you were in a bar fight or whatever lowlifes like you get involved in.”

The man practically teleported away, leaving Ford to sigh and straighten his trenchcoat, before teleporting away himself.

He rematerialized in a remote corner of the mountains of Tibet-if anyone asked, he’d been up here for ages, trying to track down a particularly elusive yeti. Bill would have every reason to believe that-if he even realized what had happened, he and the others were probably all distracted with that war going on in Afghanistan, they’d have no reason to even _look at_ one tiny corner of the United States-

A pillar of fire suddenly erupted in the snow right in front of him, and a voice thundered from the center of it.

“STANFORD-I WANT A WORD WITH YOU.”

* * *

“I was working on that guy for _weeks_ !” Keyhole whined, marching back and forth and waving his hands in exasperation. “Hurting that woman was gonna be the final nail in the coffin that’d send him down the road of irredeemable wickedness! Now he’s probably never gonna so much as _double park,_ thanks to Goody-Six-Fingers over there!”

Even though he was fully aware of how much trouble he was in at this moment, and that it could very possibly end with a cessation of his entire existence, a small, rebellious voice in the back of Ford’s head whispered, _Good._ He, however, kept his expression as stony and still as it had been when he first arrived, and tried to ignore the terror racing its way through his chest and stomach like a hamster on a wheel.

The other demons howled with indignation, several of them throwing out comments and helpful advice, such as “FLAY HIM ALIVE!” “Give him a holy water shower!” and “He’s spent too long running around with humans! Maybe we should turn him into one!”

At the head of the table Bill sat on his throne of petrified humans****, tapping the space beneath his eye thoughtfully while leaning his elbow on one of the arms. His form hadn’t turned red yet, but that gave Ford no comfort; his boss was notoriously capricious in situations like this.

****These wicked souls were switched out periodically from being stuck in the fire pits, or other circles of Hell, in order to form his chair. He also got a real kick out of using one soul as a backscratcher; this week’s choice was former Roman emperor Caligula.

* * *

Finally Bill raised his hand, and the table lapsed into silence. Once he was sure he had everyone’s attention, their leader sat back, crossing one leg over the other, and turned his gaze on Ford.

“So, Stanford-what’ve ya got ta say for yourself, buddy?”

Ford shifted uncomfortably, wishing they hadn’t felt the urge to chain him to his chair but glad that at least they hadn’t hung him upside down like Xanthar had suggested. “Um-I-”

“Oh _wow_ , are you actually gonna _try_ ta think of some kinda defense for this?” Bill cackled. The other demons booed, but he waved a hand to silence them. “No, no, I really wanna hear this. Is it that you were ‘trying to keep things interesting’ again?” He sprouted a couple of extra arms just so he could make finger quotes. “Or maybe that you meant to _help_ the guy, and just _accidentally_ scared him on the road to repentance? Or-no, wait, I know-it wasn’t even you! It was some other guy that _looked_ like you-!”

Without even thinking about it, Ford blurted out, “Yes!”

The other demons all stared at him.

“Wait, what now?” he heard Pyronica whisper.

“It was the Adversary!” Ford let his words continue running away with his mouth, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that was asking, _Uh, Ford, are you sure this is a good idea?_ “We look a lot alike, so I can see why it would be easy to mix us up!” He gave a weak smile, and wiggled one of his hands. “You need to take a look at the fingers to tell the difference. I’ve been in Tibet for the last month, I swear.”

_Please don’t ask me to prove it, though._

To his astonishment, it actually seemed to work. The other demons looked at each other uncertainly, muttering back and forth.

Keyhole glared at him, and muttered, “It _was_ you. I _know_ it was.” But even Ford could hear the tremble of doubt in his voice. He just sat with his back straight, and hoped he wasn’t sweating as much as it felt like he was.

At last Bill let out a sigh, and levitated up out of his chair.

“Okay, okay. Looks like we can’t prove he’s the one who stopped your guy, so for now at least we can’t kill him. Sorry, Keyhole.”

The blue-green demon leaned his arms on the table with a disappointed pout, as Bill snapped his fingers, making the chains on Ford’s wrists and ankles evaporate. He rubbed his chafed wrists under the table-and shrank back when suddenly Bill disappeared, and rematerialized hovering over the table right in front of him.

“But I better not hear about anymore little incidents like this with your name involved, ya got that, Stanford? You’re a substandard demon at best, most of the time; I don’t wanna hear about ya bein’ a traitor too.” He shook a tiny black finger at Ford, like a scolding mother.

All he could do was gulp, and nod, and get away as soon as he could.

* * *

Part of Ford wondered if he hadn’t made a huge mistake, accusing Stanley of being the one to save the woman. It felt kind of like throwing him under the bus.

But he consoled himself with the belief that his brother _would’ve_ been the one to stop it if he’d been there, so it wasn’t _that_ big of a lie. Besides, it wasn’t like they’d try anything towards him, they weren’t _that_ crazy-or if they did, Stanley would be tough enough and smart enough to handle it.

He always was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ford, being simultaneously a hero and an idiot: film at 11.
> 
> Also, for those of you unfamiliar with German, I was tempted to let you just fend for yourselves in figuring out the translations, but instead decided to put them here, in order. You're welcome.  
> "Okay, komm schon." = "Okay, come on."  
> "Waren hier." = "We're here."  
> "HALT!" = "HALT!" (well, duh)  
> "Bleib wo du bist!" = "Stay where you are!"  
> "Wer bist du?" = "Who are you?"  
> "Seid ihr Juden?" = "Are you Jewish?"  
> "Verlassen. Jetzt." = "Leave. Now."  
> "Danke, Väter." = "Thank you, fathers."  
> "Kein Problem. Jetzt geh. Geh!" = "No problem. Now go. Go!"


End file.
